Maybe that tribble fight wasn't such a good idea
by Borg 2 of 10
Summary: Sequel to "TRIBBLE FIGHT!" Something about purple glittery poop and Kirk's easily rippable shirts?


_**A/N: Well hi. Again. Merry Christmas. After writing "TRIBBLE FIGHT!", I wanted to write a sequel for some strange, unknown reason. Believe me when I say I tried to make it funny. If it isn't, I can explain in 2 words. No coffee. but anyways... yeah. I'm going to write a fic explaining the sparkly purple sickbay incident described in here, so hopefully that's going to be a bit funnier. Anyway, I should stop typing a one sided conversation and get on with the story. Enjoy! Reviews are welcome. No pressure :) *cue sleigh bells***_

Pavel Chekov was upset. He hadn't seen Mr Snoodles, his favourite tribble, for over a week now, or since he had decided that it was a good idea to start throwing tribbles at his crewmembers on the bridge. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea. They had later found out that Spock had accidentally nerve pinched the tribble thrown at him when he had caught it, and the only way to wake it up was to put food in front of it. Sadly, McCoy hadn't been fast enough to take the food away before it ate the whole thing and spat out the plate. There had been three whole days of sidestepping tribbles in the corridor and checking before they sat down, just in case they made the same mistake the captain did once and sat on one. There had also been countless times that the young ensign had walked into his quarters to see his bed was now blanketed in fur. Even after all of this, he hadn't seen Mr Snoodles.

"Mr Chekov." The captain said, breaking him out of his daydream.

"Yes. Sorry keptin." He replied. Sulu was looking at him again, grinning.

"There's a tribble on your console."

"Huh? Oh!" The navigator picked up the tribble, checked to see if it was Mr Snoodles (as he did with every tribble he saw) then carelessly chucked it behind him. It made a squeaking sound which the helmsman found hilarious.

"Mr Chekov, why do you insist on checking every tribble you see?" Mr Spock asked.

"I still haven't found Meester Snoodals."

"I still cannot understand why you are so upset over him, Mr Chekov."

Then, he got defensive. "I zhought you of all people vould know how eet felt like to lose a pet!" Chekov screeched.

"I-Chaya..." Spock whispered, failing to keep his emotions under control at remembering his fat teddy bear with six inch fangs. "Captain, we need to find Mister Snoodles!"

Kirk quickly snapped his gaze up to Spock's face as he turned around, not wanting to be caught looking at his first officer's backside as he had been doing. He had been looking there for three years and had been caught multiple times, mostly by Lieutenant Uhura, his communications officer,whose skirt was so small it barely got past her chest. He thought it was lucky that she didn't comment on it.

"Yes, Mr Spock, as soon as we finish the shift." He said.

"What's actually happening on zis shift? Nothing!" Because of his screeching and his Russian accent, only Kirk could hear and understand him, as he had practiced for years to decipher the gibberish that came out of the ensign's mouth.

"The ship is full of strange purring balls of fluff, My lover-" Jim coughed profusely when he realized his mistake, and no one found it suspicious. "First officer," he almost shouted as he carried on, hiding his blush. "Is thinking about his teddy bear Selhat thing, and you're yelling gibberish at me!" To try and hide it even further, he added "And now I've had a completely non-suspicious coughing fit that wasn't to hide anything embarrassing or revealing about feelings I may or may not have for a crewmember!"

"Sorry, keptin." Pavel mumbled.

Meanwhile, in Briefing Room C...

The table was blanketed in tribbles. The floor was blanketed in tribbles. The door had tribbles piled up against it, and there wasn't a single chair in the room that didn't have at least ten tribbles piled onto it, like a massive fluffy mountain. Mr Snoodles was cowering in the corner, screeching as if there was a Klingon nearby. He was only small, like his favourite Human, Chekov, which meant that everything else towered around him as if they were made for giants. The largest tribbles in the room were circled around him, either waiting to attack or sleeping. He couldn't tell which. If he was going to be honest with himself, they were terrifying no matter what they were doing. He decided that they were asleep, and tried to quietly get away from them. No, they were waiting to attack. The largest one launched itself at Mr Snoodles like it was a spring, pinning him to the floor and refusing to budge. So much for that idea.

The crew of the Alpha shift all piled onto the turbolift after six hours of gazing longingly at a viewscreen, waiting for a star to explode or a Klingon ship to de-cloak, just anything to take their mind off of the mind numbingly boring task of patrolling the sector. As usual, Chekov, being the smallest by at least five metres, was the one crammed in the smallest space in a corner. He was used to this, and the occasional stinking air current that sometimes came from the crewman infront, usually Ensign Smellybutt. It didn't particularly annoy him. Smellybutt was a redshirt and he was due to beam down to the next planet as a part of the patrol.

"Chekov?" the captain said, abruptly ending the silence in the cramped space and making everyone jump. The ensign, of course, was the one who screamed at such a high pitch that nobody except Spock could hear him.

"Uhh... yes, keptin?"

"Meet me in Briefing room C in an hour. Or two, depending on how many chess matches I play against my lov—first officer." Phew, that was close.

"A-aye keptin."

All of a sudden, a nameless redshirt next to Uhura the lift fell over. Nobody even noticed, until the communications officer stepped backwards and accidentally crushed its skull with her massive clown feet. Nobody made a comment and the doors opened to let them all out of the extremely claustrophobic space.

"He's dead, Jim!" McCoy yelled gleefully as the last of the people got out, revealing the redshirt.

"I swear, if you say that one more time..."

"What, Jim? You'll throw me out the same airlock the dead security officers are thrown out of?"

"Yes. Exactly the same airlock, with that dead one there." He gestured to the dead security officer, whose limbs were still in a hopeless tangle under him.

"WHAT?!"

Kirk walked away, laughing to himself at the mix of surprise and horror on his Chief Medical Officer's face.

TWO HOURS LATER

"You wanted to see me, keptin?

Chekov was stood outside Briefing Room C watching Kirk wrestle, quite literally, with the doors. He was trying hard not to laugh at his captain's futile attempts to open the door, but it wasn't very easy.

"Yes, just give me a second!"

As if on cue, the doors slid open faster than they ever had. As a pile of tribbles fell out into the corridor, Kirk fell in, thankfully onto a furry bed. Not so thankfully, onto a sizeable amount of tribble poo. It was purple and glittery and reminded both of them of the time McCoy had accidentally knocked over a reactive chemical in sickbay that had turned the walls, beds, tables, patients, nurses and anything else there that same colour.

"Just get in!" Jim half yelled at Chekov.

He picked up every tribble in the way and inspected it, before throwing it behind him. When he sat down and looked at his captain, there was a tribble on his head and his shirt had ripped at the shoulder.

"One of the tribbles ran at me and got caught on it." He tried to explain while rubbing off the glittery purple all over his front.

"Yes. Of course, keptin."

"I wante-" He was cut off with a loud screech coming from the corner. There, a pile of huge tribbles were squirming around, so quickly it looked like they were vibrating. One at the top of the pile fell down, revealing what was underneath: a smaller tribble that was strangely familiar to Kirk. Almost instantly, Chekov had leapt from his chair and was yelling something in Russian, which definitely wasn't polite, as he hurled the larger tribbles out of the door which was being held open by the tribble poo. When his rage was over, he caught his breath and returned to speaking English.

"Meester Snoodals! I have been searching all over for you! What were zey doing?"

Mister Snoodles cooed softly in reply as it was picked up.

"It looks as if zey vere beating you up! Did zey hurt you?"

Again, it cooed softly.

Kirk just rolled his eyes and left. What he wanted to yell at Chekov about wasn't very important anyway.


End file.
